


We Ain't Both Gonna Make It

by Shaleschnueffler



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arthur Morgan Has Tuberculosis, Betrayal, Brothers, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Chapter 6: Beaver Hollow (Red Dead Redemption 2), Character Death, Death, Despair, Desperation, During Canon, Dutch van der Linde Being an Asshole, Fights, Fist Fights, Friendship, Gen, Guns, Hope, Hurt, Hurt Arthur Morgan, I Just Made Everything Worse, I Tried, John Marston Deserves Happiness, Loyalty, Micah Bell Being an Asshole, Mountains, Pain, Red Dead Redemption 2 Spoilers, Redemption, Spoilers, Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018), Violence, they deserve better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:00:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29009421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaleschnueffler/pseuds/Shaleschnueffler
Summary: John and Arthur escape up the mountain - the last one the latter would ever crest. Hope, loyalty, and stubbornness attempt to change his fate.- set in   chapter 6: beaver hollow   of red dead redemption 2 -
Relationships: John Marston & Arthur Morgan
Kudos: 15





	We Ain't Both Gonna Make It

**Author's Note:**

> "Achilles Come Down", "I Gave You All" by Mumford and Sons, and "Neptune" by Sleeping At Last set the mood for this one. I apologize for this piece of work, for nothing in particular, just for it existing.
> 
> [insert ooc and "english is not my first language" warning here]
> 
> Hope you enjoy anyway, thank you for reading! Feedback is, as always, much appreciated!

Gunshots were ringing out behind them as they made their way up the mountain, slowly; John a few feet ahead of Arthur. Breathing heavily and almost stumbling over a rock, the taller man turned to fire a shot, hoping to be able to slow their pursuers down, but to no avail. His hands were shaking, his legs feeling like they were about to give in. When they'd finally climbed the summit, he leaned against the stone, heaving for air, feeling another fit of coughs build up in his lungs.

\- "Arthur, come on, let's go! We can't stop now!"

Arthur raised his eyes to look at him, blood covering his lips and chin; his face coated in dirt. John was moving towards him, alarmed, bewilderment written on his features.

\- "No... you go."

The way John's posture changed spoke volumes as he gestured to his side with the hand he'd been pressing to his injured shoulder, the disbelief and panic visible in his widened eyes.

\- "There's no time for this, Arthur! Just a little farther, we gotta keep going, we--"

\- "No." Arthur had his eyes set on his friend, his voice sad, yet determined. " _You_ gotta keep going. I cant." There was no other way but to make the best of this now. John had to make it. He had to. "I've given all I have." He paused to take a breath. "We ain't both gonna make it. Go, I'll hold them off."

John looked like he was about to grab him by the shoulder to pull him along, or punch him in the face, Arthur couldn't quite tell. Not like it mattered anyway, seeing as the younger man seemed frozen on the spot.

\- "I ain't leaving you here, this-- this is crazy!", John yelled once he'd found his voice again, gesturing wildly.

\- "You got a family. All I got is a ragged lung. I don't got much longer either way."

Despite the calm but urging tone in his voice, Arthur was starting to lose his patience. Casting a glance over his shoulder, he realized once more that there was no time left for pointless arguments like theirs. Any second now, a bullet could pierce his skull, and at the latest when their pursuers got close enough to get a clear shot on them, their chances of escaping would drop to zero.

\- "You- you can't know that!" John's pleading voice was filled with despair.

Maybe Arthur would be able to take a bullet or two for his friend - but all that was at stake at this moment was way too important, too precious to challenge their luck now.

\- "Don't be a _fool_ , Marston-"

\- "I'm not being--"

Arthur straightened up, hastily pointing back to the path they'd taken, the wide and careless motion reflecting the desperation he was feeling. It was now or never. Time was running out on them. They had to act instead of talk nonsense now if he wanted John to make it out of there alive. Even if it meant having to force his luck on him.

\- "Use your _goddamn_ brain for once, get the hell outta here! Go to your family, _go_!"

\- "Arthur--"

\- "Just... shut up and go!"

Carelessly, he pushed his hat onto John's head, one hand placed on his shoulder.

\- " _Please_." The hat was closely followed by the satchel he yanked over his head to push it into the shorter man's hands, who stood unsteadily, eyes wide. He opened his mouth, presumably about to object to the spoken words, but Arthur was quick to cut him off and push him away, causing him to stagger. "What are you waiting for, _go_!"

At this point, the calm, pressing tone had left his voice, exchanged for one that left no space for backtalk as he downright shouted, hopeless and urging. With his mouth finally closed again, John turned his head to look behind him where his future laid, hand clasping the satchel. It was only this path that was separating him from freedom, from safety, from his family. His eyes met Arthur's once more only split seconds later, revealing the way he was waging a war against himself, making no attempt at hiding his struggles.

Silence came over them for a second in which Arthur began to make his way back up, gun drawn, prepared for a fight he knew he wasn't gonna win.

John swallowed and breathed in, looking like he was about to speak up. But, in the end, he silently turned away from the taller man, stumbling forward with feeble steps and casting glances back to where Arthur was standing. The glimmer of hope had left his eyes, replaced with something resembling fear, and pain, and sheer despair. This was goodbye, forever, and they both knew it, no matter how hard they were trying to push it away.

\- "You're my brother." The words left his throat sounding like nothing but a hoarse breath.

\- "I know." Despite all the weight he'd never gotten off his chest, despite all the thoughts and feelings he'd never given voice to, there was nothing else Arthur could've said. His words held all they had time for, all that was needed. He knew. They both did.

Neither of them looked back when they parted, about to go different ways like so many times before. Except, this time, all hope to meet again had vanished.

\- "Give me all you've got, you bastards!" Arthur started to make his way back down the mountain, guns aimed, kicking off stones as the loose ground underneath his feet slipped. He was face to face with the men who'd been after them now, and with nowhere to take cover, going in headfirst was the only option he had. He owed John that much. With his shoulders hunched up, he triggered shot after shot, and despite the dirt and dust that caused his eyes to water, he kept going, making it farther and farther down. A man went down in front of him.

Maybe there was still a way. Maybe there was still hope. Not for long, but maybe for now. A bullet rushed past him, barely missing him by a few inches. Maybe he would live to see the day; the rising sun on the horizon. Even one more day would be enough for him. To make sure everyone was safe, all the people he'd hurt, whose lives he'd destroyed. Another shot fired from his gun pierced a man's chest. Arthur's eyes were set on the foot of the mountain; he was getting closer and closer. Maybe he would make it through the day, after all.

But fate simply wasn't on his side. Not today, not ever. He should've expected it.

\- "Got ya now, black lung."

Before he could react, before he could even turn his head, he was knocked down. His feet lost touch with the ground, the gun slipped from his hand. His blood was rushing through his veins, almost drowning out the ringing in his ears, as he hit the solid stone. He could feel the back of his head pound. His upper body was pulled up by his shirt before a clenched fist connected with his jaw, unleashing a piercing pain that seemed to spread through his whole skull, quickly followed by another hit.

\- "You _rat_..." Coughing, gasping for breath, he struggled, fighting against the weight on his chest until he was able to deliver a hit that loosened his enemy's grip on him. There was barely enough time for him to brace himself before he saw bloody knuckles heading his way again. Punch after punch was exchanged as they rolled through the dirt, the sharp rocks tearing their clothes and skin, and the dust making it hard for them to breathe. The taste of blood filled Arthur's mouth.

It was right that second that he felt an edge press into his back, painfully straining his shoulderblade. This time, he realized before it was too late. With all his force, barely able to breathe, he tried to push Micah over him, hoping to either be able to stifle his collision with the ground by making his attacker fall first, or to push him off alone. As Micah's body eventually rolled over the edge, the piercing pain in Arthur's back finally ceased. However, no matter how hard he'd tried to stick to at least one of his plans, gravity seemed to be fighting against him as he toppled; the weight pulling him off the ledge and tearing the fabric of Micah's shirt where he'd been holding on to him, at the very same moment.

He plummeted, face first, but with the way the world spun around him, even the short fall made him lose track of what was happening, which way he was turning and what was underneath him. There was barely any time to grasp a single clear thought before his body hit the ground once more, the deceiving hints of grass and flowers making way for hard, cold rock. A pained groan escaped his mouth. Convulsing, with all the air knocked out of his lungs, he panted for breath, forcing himself to roll over and push himself up from the ground. Determined to be the one to strike the first hit, hoping to be able to gain some sort of advantage, he raised his fist, weakly, and let it come down on Micah who was only then raising his eyes to look at him.

Having managed to land a single punch, Arthur lost his balance as he was kicked in the guts. God, how his head was spinning. Despite his aching limbs, and despite the wave of nausea that washed over him as soon as he tried to straighten himself, he struggled to get up on his feet. If he took one second to rest now, there'd be no chance of winning this. He knew that he'd die either way, eventually; the blood running down his chin speaking for itself. But this was the _last_ fight he would give up in.

Just as his vision became clear enough to make out his surroundings again, the other man began staggering towards him, fist raised, leaving enough time for Arthur to prepare for another punch. It was a back and forth of delivering and receiving, of insults and threats hurled, with seemingly no end in sight. Neither of them was willing or ready to surrender, whether it was because of hatred, or anger, or mere despair. There was no backing out from this. Not like they would let each other go just like that at this point anyway.

Arthur hadn't expected Micah to grab him by the throat that very second. Neither was he strong enough to fend him off. Barely able to stay on his feet, he gasped for air, frantically attempting to pry his attacker off of his neck. He couldn't go like this.

\- "You really thought you were gonna win this, black lung?" Blood and spit hit his face.

Micah's grip grew tighter. Coughs left Arthur's sore throat, but no air was able to flow back in, causing him to choke. Things began to blur. First his surroundings, then the blood-covered face of his enemy whose grin was widening with each passing second. He had no strength left to fight back. Everything was aching. Darkness began to creep over him, slowly starting to take over his vision. No matter how hard he tried to catch air, there was nothing. Nothing filling his lungs, nothing he could do, nothing that could save him from his fate. This was it. But at least John had made it. Hopefully. Nothing else mattered. Even thinking was hurting at this point. He let himself be pushed against the hard stone even further, eyes rolling back. There was no point in struggling; no hope left for him; he was too weak, too sick, too pathetic.

\- "Oh, I've been waiting for this." Micah's voice sounded dirtier than ever. Arthur would have punched him in the face if he could. He couldn't.

All sounds were muffled, drowned out by his pounding heart, his rushing blood, his panicked gasps. He could barely make out the bang that rang out. And no way, not ever, had he expected his lungs to suddenly fill with air again. Unable to grasp any of what was happening, he collapsed and, coughing uncontrollably, weakly reached towards his own sore throat. He was alive - and he didn't know if it was a miracle or a goddamn game they were playing with him. But he knew that whatever it was that had saved him from his death wasn't going to save him from his fate - the way he could barely roll onto his back was speaking volumes. No hope or relief flooded his heart. This wasn't his fight to fight anymore. Whoever or whatever was coming for him now, be it savior or killer, ally or enemy, would get to him. Except, there was only one way this was gonna end.

\- "This piece of shit." The disgusted words spat by a voice all too familiar to him, however, made his heart sink. In a split second, one single phrase changed everything. In spite of the sharp pain that was making his whole body feel paralyzed, Arthur, straining, forced himself to gather the strength to turn his head and bring his unclear surroundings into focus. He laid eyes on the man who was stood steadily on a small ridge only a few feet away from him, gun still drawn and aimed; unflinching. Arthur froze. Whether it was shock, or fear, or rage, or just plain anguish, he had no idea.

\- "Marston, you--" His voice was weak and hoarse; cut off by another fit of coughing. His sweat and the dirt were burning in the open wounds; the blood and pain making it hard to see. But he'd promised. He'd promised to get him to safety. "You goddamn fool." His words were quiet and pained; no strength left to even raise his voice. It would've been alright. But now both of their lives were on the line.

It was right then, when John had just opened his mouth to yell something back in an attempt to justify his actions, that the scraping sound of a gun being cocked cut through the quiet rustling of leaves in the breeze. Not a single word was spoken as John turned, quickly, hands steadily holding on to the revolver's grip. Their surroundings were too dark, too blurred for Arthur to make out just what it was that was taking over his friend's face, but when a shaken voice resounded from behind him, it was all that was needed for him to realize.

\- "Drop that gun, John."

A pain stronger than anything he'd ever felt before tore through his heart, washing away any last trace of hope and faith he'd carried. John's hands were beginning to tremble; uncertainty shaking up his stand; all while Arthur's vision was blurring further, the loss of blood beginning to make black dots dance in front of his eyes. Focussing hurt, and so he stopped trying. This shouldn't have happened, not ever. How had it come to this? There were many reasons, he realized. Too many mistakes to count. It was their fault, too. And his.

\- "Dutch, come on! _Please!_ "

There was no need for keen sight for him to be able to see it all clear as day. Dutch and John, father and son, face to face and gun to gun, and him in-between. Arthur was wheezing. Only a gesturing silhouette was left for him to make out at this point, framed by the dark-blue sky that was announcing the approaching dawn of day. It was enough for Arthur to see the emotions circling through his friend.

\- "We can still save him!"

There was no way. John shouldn't have come back; not for anyone or anything, but especially not for him. But then again - stubbornness and loyalty had always both been his brother's greatest strengths and weaknesses. Maybe he should've expected it. Arthur inhaled shakily.

\- "No, John... It's over", he breathed, the words barely making it out of his sore throat, eyes glazed and unfocused. "I'm sorry I couldn't--..."

\- "Arthur, no, we can still-" 

Without even paying attention to John's panicked response, Arthur kept talking. There was just no way.

\- "I tried but... I guess it wasn't enough." Sadness flooded his trembling voice, regret and sorrow resonating as he stared up into the star-speckled night sky. "I gave you all I had, Dutch. I did." 

Silence came over the tree of them. Not even John dared to raise his voice again, like he'd finally realized what Arthur had been telling him all this time; that his fight had been lost long ago, that they weren't gonna make it, not both of them.

There was no chance for Arthur to grasp what happened next. The way Dutch looked down at his weak, motionless body before meeting John's eyes again. The way the man they'd considered their father turned his back on them, leaving them behind, wordlessly. The way John slowly lowered his gun, silently staring to where Dutch had disappeared into the night.

\- "Arthur?" He was standing still except for the fact that his eyes slipped shut for a second. Almost like he knew. Like he knew that no response would come back to him. That hoping and trying weren't always enough to succeed, to challenge fate. That a lost fight could not be won.

After a while, John finally dared to take a pained look around, his eyes eventually coming to rest on the two lifeless bodies on the ground, mere feet away from him. There was a feeling of emptiness inside him where disappointment and sadness should be sprouting - but the disbelief and silence were making it hard to feel a thing. Micah was dead. But so was his brother. There was no peace to be seen in Arthur's inert features, no calmness or ease. Just blood and hurt and sadness. Regret. And John couldn't help but feel the same way.

All those years, all these hopes, all their loyalty, all their faith. Had turned into this. And he found himself incapable of understanding just how, and why.

Breathing in deeply, he tore his eyes away from the body in front of him to stare at the horizon instead. Standing silently, he watched the sun rise over the mountains and trees and the dark colors fade away until the orange-golden hues began to dance on Arthur's resting face, the empty look in his eyes now even more apparent. Only then did John realize just how much time he'd spent there, alone, and he began to wonder if Abigail had left without him at this point. He wouldn't be able to blame her if she had. He should've just gone, shouldn't have come back. Or maybe he simply shouldn't have left in the first place. The what if's circling around in his head threatened to take over, and so he averted his eyes, breaking out of his frozen state.

At least at that moment, he knew that there was only one thing for him to do. But of how much use was it now? He shook off the thoughts, trying to think about something else than his failures instead.

Carefully, despite the pain in his arm, he crouched down, heaving Arthur's lifeless body over his shoulders. He owed him that much. For giving his life to make sure John would make it. He wouldn't let his sacrifice be in vain. Not after all they'd gone and lived through, after all that had happened.

He took the first slow step, the weight on his shoulders making it hard to keep his balance but he was quick to steady and walk on, devastated, but focussed.

He carried him down the mountain, through the woods, over paths and hills. When he began digging in the dirt with his bare hands, the sun had risen already; the light that was shining through the rustling leaves above dappling the ground, but John didn't notice. Even if he had, he wouldn't have cared.

With no one there to help him, to keep him company, it felt like an eternity until he got back up on his feet eventually, covered in sweat and blood and dirt.

His heart sank when he looked down at Arthur, laying eyes on the countless wounds and bruises tainting his skin, proof of a life and a death of fight and struggle.

\- "Thank you for everything, brother." The first handful of dirt landed on the lifeless body.

Maybe, one day, Arthur could've forgiven himself for all the things he'd done. Maybe he could've redeemed himself. Maybe if John had just tried a little more.

But now? Now, they were nothing but a restless soul, haunted by his past and shaped by hurt and sorrow until the very end; and a man whose guilt and regret would never leave hold of him. Two men, led astray, too deluded to see the truth until it had been too late.

Silently, John rose, casting a last glance at the crooked wooden cross. Arthur had never been a believer. And when John turned to leave, heavy raindrops beginning to plummet, the wind howling, bitterness tearing at his heart, he felt like he could finally understand why.


End file.
